4. Nolan
4
NOLAN
H ospitals are always cold. The frosty temperatures almost seem like an added cruelty to those forced to be here even if there’s a reason behind it. Still, I cross my arms and wish I’d brought a jacket.
Sound echoes up the near empty halls. Footsteps on the tiled floor. The shuffling of papers from the nurses’ station. A hacking cough from one of the other residents. A phone ringing. Though the noise is slightly muffled by the closed door of Gio’s room, I can hear it all.
Gio’s mom sits quietly in the corner, her eyes red rimmed as she knits something with shaking fingers. Every few minutes, she’ll glance up, eyes locking on her son as she practically vibrates with the need to see him awake. Gio’s eyes remain fixedly closed through a medically induced sleep that won’t let up at least for another day or so. A necessity, according to the doctor, to give the swelling in his brain enough time to lower on its own.
My hands twitch to reach for my nonexistent phone. I’d let my anger get the best of me and now I don’t even have that distraction. Dumbass.
At half past midnight, the door to the room opens, and I turn my head. My eyes only see the tall, foreboding figure in the doorway for a split second before I’m rising from the hard chair where I’ve been sitting vigil for hours now. When I’m on my feet, though, I see who it is, and my wariness only increases tenfold.
“Mr. Vargas.”
Gio’s dad stands in the doorway, a dark shadow of a beard across the lower half of his face and his body clothed in a pair of casual jeans, a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of steel toed work boots.
Darrio Vargas nods to me. “Nolan.” His eyes go to where Gio lies, his face black and blue and various machines recording his heart rate, blood pressure, and a fuck load of other bodily functions I don’t want to think about.
“I thought you were out of town,” I say, not a question, but not an accusation either. I’ve never liked Darrio Vargas—not even when I’d decided to use him to my own gain.
“I was.” Darrio’s attention flickers to his wife. The soft sound of sniffling coming from her isn’t enough to make me glance back. When Darrio returns his gaze to me, he nods back to the open door. “Come,” he orders. “Take a walk with me.”
“Darrio.” Mrs. Vargas’ voice is full of pleading.
To his credit, Gio’s father doesn’t snarl at her as I half expect him to. We’re in a respectable place and he’s good at playing the good partner when it’s necessary. “Not now, Camila,” he says. “Look after your son.”
Your son. Not his. Fuck Darrio Vargas. If I could go back in time and take him out at the same time as my own father, I would. As it stands, now we need the fucker and I really wish we didn’t.
Still, I let the bastard lead me out into the hall. The door to Gio’s hospital room slides shut with a click behind me. I glance up the hall to the nurses’ station, and my fingers itch to reach for my nonexistent phone when I find it empty. I know that Lex will be watching the cameras, but I’d rather there be more people around than G’s mom while he’s this vulnerable. I wish I could send him a heads up. Getting a new device is my first priority at ensuring my boys’ safety.
“What do you want to discuss?” I ask.
Darrio shakes his head. “Not here.” Without waiting for me to make a suggestion, he turns and heads for the elevators.
Clenching my teeth against the need to take a swing at the back of his head, I follow. Minutes later, we’re exiting the elevator on the ground floor of the parking garage underneath the hospital and he's leading me over to a section with a big “smoking” sign painted on the concrete wall.
He waits until we’re within twenty feet of the sign before pulling out a pack of cigarettes and offering me one. Despite my irritation with the man, I take one and then borrow his lighter after he’s already lit his. I suck back a drag of nicotine and slowly exhale.
“Speak,” Darrio demands, and I do.
I explain the situation as we know it. I tell him all about Gio getting jumped outside of Cory’s gym and the damage he’d sustained. I take a bit longer on my one cig because of all the talking, but by the time I’m done, Darrio has already burned through his first and started on his second.
I stare at him, the half-smoked cig hanging between my fingers as I contemplate the thought that perhaps he was the one who was the cause of this. It takes considerable effort to bring the cigarette to my lips and suck back another lungful of nicotine instead of using the bright red end to burn a hole through his face.
Several more minutes go by in near silence, and Darrio lights up a third cigarette. “Did they leave a calling card?”
I tilt my head to the side. “You mean a sign of who they were?” I shake my head. “No. They were good. Covered their faces and hands. The cops pulled no fingerprints from the alley.” A shock considering it was a fucking alley. There should’ve been loads of prints—which means the assholes had prepared for their attack. They’d pre-cleaned the area. I’ll have to mention it to Lex and have him pull the CCTV records from earlier. Not that I’ll offer it to Darrio. Something about the man has always set me on edge—aside from his abusive nature towards Mrs. Vargas and his obvious disgust for his own offspring.
Darrio hums in the back of his throat and blows out a cloud of smoke. I count down the seconds, my eyes flicking back to the elevator bank. Each minute that passes feels like a lifetime where something could be happening to Gio. The hospital might be a public location, but at night it’s a veritable ghost town and the staff is always short a member or two.
“I’ll look into it from my end,” Darrio finally says, drawing my attention back to him. My upper lip itches to curl back, but I somehow manage to keep my expression civil.
“I’ll let you know if I find anything,” I tell him. A lie.
Ash flicks over the concrete slab of the parking garage floor as rich dark eyes move up over my face. “I hear you’ve been hanging around with the Donovan bitch,” he says.
My insides tighten and a fresh wave of anger fills me, burning through my blood until it’s all I feel.
“If my son’s been seen with her, it might have something to do with her as well,” Darrio’s words seem to echo all around me, each syllable bouncing off the walls and slamming into the side of my skull.
When I speak, my voice remains even and placid even if the words are anything but. “She’s none of your concern.”
Gio’s father jerks his head up and narrows his eyes on me. “What did you say?”
I turn to face the man fully, dropping the almost finished cigarette and stomping on the still lit end, crushing it under my foot. “I said”—I let the rage fill my lungs, my chest. Let it leak into every crevice of my body until it’s all I know—“That Juliet Donovan is none of your concern.” She’s mine. Ours.
“You don’t get to make that decision, son.”
“I’m not your son.” I say the words with no heat, but keep my gaze locked on the man I’m speaking to. Each movement is recorded. Each twitch marked. Each line in his face categorized.
Darrio Vargas scowls and takes a step towards me. All at once, I let go. Where I normally slouch in his presence—an effect that makes me seem less confident and less of a threat—I straighten to my full height and meet his gaze head on. It’s a silent dare. A threat when I’ve never done so before.
“I will find out who tried to kill your son,” I state. Your real son. Not me. “And I will handle Juliet Donovan. She has nothing to do with your business.”
Darrio chuckles, the sound grating along my nerve endings. “If you think the Donovans have nothing to do with my business, Nolan, then you’ll be quite surprised by the future you have with me.” I have no future with him, but he doesn’t know that yet. When I don’t respond to his obvious taunt, his expression shifts back to one of indignant aggravation. “She’ll be nothing but trouble to you,” he snaps. “I guarantee you—she is just like her family—a parasite on this town.”
“Like I said,” each word comes out clipped. “I’ll take care of it.”
Silently, I dare him to refute me. I wait for it. The common need of a man like him—overflowing with the desire to prove his own masculinity—to set me down. To remind me of my place .
Instead, Darrio backs up and turns his head, spitting a wad of something dark and sticky out of the corner of his mouth. “See that you do.” Dropping his own cigarette to the ground, he crushes it under his steel toe and then turns, walking away.
I watch him pass by the bank of elevators and disappear down one of the darkened aisles of cars somewhere in the back of the garage. The fact that he’s not even bothering to go back up and see Gio or find a doctor doesn’t shock me. If anything, I’m accustomed to his dismissal of Gio. I have my own theories of why that is, but I do what I’ve always done—I keep to myself and head upstairs to do my duty.
When I reach the level that Gio’s room is on, I step out of the elevators to find a skinny-looking man with a light scruffy beard and rings beneath his eyes holding a box in front of the door. His phone is in his hand and he glances from it to the room and back again.
Scowling, I move forward. “Who are you?” I demand, making the man jump at the sudden bark of my voice.
He whirls towards me, the phone in his hand nearly slipping from his grasp as he does so. He catches it and yanks it close to his chest. Over his shoulder, I spy one of my mom’s coworkers peering after us curiously.
Damn it. Another reason I hate being in hospitals—it’s harder to hide this shit from her.
Lowering my voice, I redirect my attention back to the man. “You better have a good goddamn reason for standing outside this room,” I snap.
“I-I was just sent to deliver this,” the man stutters out, shoving the box towards me. The veins in his neck stand out and there’s a thin layer of perspiration coating his forehead and upper lip.
Flicking a glance at the box he’s holding out, I blink and then relax. Thank fuck. I reach for it. “You’re delivering this?” I clarify, my voice losing its automatic anger.
The man seems to release a sigh. “Yeah. It’s late, but the tip the guy gave was good, so I?—”
I ignore his words as he prattles on and take the box from him, ripping it open to find a new cell phone inside. Lex. Fuck. Now I’m going to have to tell him that I hadn’t been able to find Juliet and that none of the guys working under me for Vargas had yet to return to the hospital with news. Not having this little piece of technology had made coordinating everything a shit show. Destroying my last one in a fit of rage over the Princess was like cutting off my own damn arm.
“Thank you,” I say to the babbling courier, cutting him off as I reach into my back pocket and withdraw my wallet. I pull out a few twenties and hand them over. Even if Lex paid him for the late-night delivery, money makes people listen when you speak. “Consider your job done.”
“Wait—I need to make sure the name?—”
“Nolan Pierce,” I cut him off.
He stares at the money in one hand and flicks a look to the cell in his other. “That’s… erm… yeah, okay. Good. Just sign here?” He turns the cell around and I use my finger to scribble out a signature on the screen. With that, he takes the money and pockets his phone and walks away.
I finish ripping the box all the way open, pulling the new cell free and pressing the button to turn it on. As the screen lights up, the phone at the nurses’ station rings, distracting the woman there long enough for me to slip into Gio’s room. Mrs. Vargas looks up and there’s fresh tear tracks on her cheeks.
“Darrio?” She sounds resigned as she speaks.
I shake my head, cursing the bastard she married again in my head as I take my seat from earlier. As I toss the remains of the courier box into the trashcan next to G’s bedside, the phone in my hand vibrates with a flurry of new messages. Lex must have set it up before he shipped it over.
I ignore the ones from the guys I sent out looking for Juliet and focus on the newest text from Lex himself. Clicking on it, a photo pops up.
Juliet Donovan’s face is soft in sleep, her electric blue hair spread out over a black satin pillow. Under it are four words.
We have a problem.